


choking on halos

by bubblewrapstargirl



Series: Stucky Pirate AU That You Didn't Know You Wanted [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Catholic Bucky Barnes, Demonic Possession, Established Relationship, Gay Bucky Barnes, Gay Steve Rogers, Implied Mpreg, Implied Relationships, Insecure Bucky Barnes, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Married Couple, Mentions of canon characters - Freeform, Period Typical Attitudes, Post Mpreg, Prophecy, Protective Bucky Barnes, Separations, Top Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 06:49:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4615389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewrapstargirl/pseuds/bubblewrapstargirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>He had long forgotten how to enjoy anything, when Steve was not by his side. He longed for his husband with a physical ache in his bones, whilst his contrary blood sang out to be at sea.</em><br/>-</p><p>Against his better judgement, Captain Barnes visits a fortune teller. He is not expecting the encounter to fracture the foundations of all he holds dear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	choking on halos

Bucky alighted from the gangplank of his ship with extreme distaste. It had taken being outvoted by the crew to even stop here in the first place, close as they were to home. The Captain had intended to stay with the ship, having no business on this particular isle, but had been fairly bullied into leaving it by his First Mate. Barton was a man of singular belief in the virtues of land, and his own feet being upon it as much as was possible. Bucky was required to accompany on his sojourn, because apparently their Captain was a ‘grouch’ when they had been at sea too long, and liable to become a ‘miser’, if he did not go out and enjoy himself on occasion.

Bucky deferred to Barton’s judgement in this matter, as he had long forgotten how to enjoy anything, when Steve was not by his side. He longed for his husband with a physical ache in his bones, whilst his contrary blood sang out to be at sea. There was a time when the two forces in Bucky’s life could be reconciled, and he was free to worship his loves simultaneously. But that time had come to an end in the most abrupt manner.

Bucky did not regret the child Steven had borne him. His hand in the creation of his son was perhaps Bucky’s greatest achievement. But he could not help but lament the life that had been lost. For all its troubles, their married life, pre-babe, seemed blissful in comparison to the long months of separation that now framed their life together.

Never since they had been reunited, and Steve ran away to follow him to sea, had Bucky experienced such prolonged heartache. He had been naive to think that, with the death of Steve’s first husband, all would be content between them. In truth, Bucky did not think Steve loved him now as he once had, and there was no medicine for an unrequited affection. The key to making Steve fall in love with him once more was buried within him, somewhere, of that Bucky was sure. He simply needed to acquire the clarity of thought to find it.

He would not do so if he continued to drink himself into a whiskey bottle, he reckoned. He finished his scalding drink with a wince. There was no solace to be found here. Barton was occupied with a local wench, the dark haired girl settling into his lap as she began to ply her trade. Bucky valiantly smothered his disgust at the sight.

As a man with a family of his own to return to, Bucky had been pressing to push on home. The men in his crew were eager to breathe land-air, thirsty for less-watered rum and the indulgences of the flesh, which could be slaked anywhere. Home was a lot less appealing for some, since there were debts to answer to; wives, children and other responsibilities waiting. Not all the crew were united in their affection for the island where they cast their anchor most frequently, having no plot of land nor warm body to return to (save for the town harlots, which were much of a muchness, no matter the name of the land you were on).

There had been a time when they had all been honourable men, expected to have youthful dalliances, but remain mostly chaste until marriage. Since mixing with brigands, they had gradually become indistinguishable from them. Bucky was no holy fool, but he carried a measure of understanding of physic, from his talks with Banner, the ship’s doctor. Whores carried disease, the awful eye-watering descriptions of which had him begging his men to take exclusive mistresses. He performed many weddings for free, eager to encourage them to settle, lest he lose his men over their insatiable need to fuck.

Turning away from the crew revelling in their measure of freedom, Bucky made his way on mostly steady feet, out of the tavern and back into the meandering streets. He was not as familiar with this island as he was with most, in this stretch of water. There was no trading to be done here, save for the regular pawn shop kind; the markets were small and the land mostly covered in crops. The town, limited though it was, was still convoluted enough to have him lost in the rapidly falling dusk. Torches anchored along the shops and houses were being lit, as Bucky relied on his good sense of direction to lead him to the shore.

Against his will, his attention was caught by a fortune-teller’s little boutique, the sign in the window promising curiosities and protection charms for all comers. Superstition was rife among all seafaring men, no matter their country of origin, and Bucky was not abnormal in that aspect. He knew that whistling raised the wind, and the sighting of a mermaid would grant the viewer a wish. Bucky had a healthy dose of respect for all sailing traditions. He touched the upturned collar of the carved klabautermann attached to the fore-mast of his ship whenever he passed it, or was in particular need of good fortune.

They observed the less savoury practices also. He had nearly flogged a man just two months past for bringing a banana on board. It was nothing to do with Bucky’s own beliefs on the matter; he enjoyed sweet fruit as much as the next man. But it was a case of taking the crew’s deepest ingrained beliefs seriously, and observing the actions that accompanied them.

Men lived and died because of suspicion and fear. The ship’s cat, Winter, was much loved, as much for her lucky properties as for her skill as a mouser. At sea, luck, be it good or ill, had a large impact on the lives of them all, and Bucky was duty bound to ease his crew’s minds in any way possible. Frightened men made for sloppy workers, and he knew the crew would not abide a fellow sailor who did not follow their ways, when it came to ritual.

Still, he sneered at the fortune-teller’s gaudy display. Tawdry black candles dripping wax along the window slats, and the shrunken heads hanging below them for all to gawk at. He was not a lover of wenches who deceived for money, be they whores or actresses. Bucky was a straight-talking man and he valued the same from all those with which he had dealings.

He also had a personal dislike of shrunken heads. Most of the crew found them fascinating, exotic curiosities, a true taste of the Caribbean to write home about. Back when they could still rely on the true King’s mail to deliver their missives to England. Now, their loved ones had either fled the green hills of home to join them in this tropical wasteland, or else were somewhere out in the wide world, unreachable and forgotten.

You would be forgiven for your assumption that Bucky would have continued weaving back to the Echidna on unsteady feet, the mystic soon forgotten. But an ill wind whistled through the streets that night, the menacing chill raising the hairs on the back of his neck enough to make the dingy shop enticing. Having enough coin to his name, Bucky stumbled in out of the cold.

A native woman wrapped in layered shawls emerged from behind the heavy black curtain, which hung over the entrance to the back room. She eyed Bucky over, probably assessing how much coin she could wrangle from him, before she held out one skinny hand.

“Mama Babineaux, they call me. Give me two silver pieces, and I will allow you three questions.”

Her voice carried the usual mellifluous quality of her people; beautiful and rich like dark amber rum. Her black eyes challenged him to back away before the deal had been struck. The same unknown desire compelled Bucky to meet her challenge, and he handed her half of the coin with little more than a grunt of acknowledgement of her terms. She indicated her low table, set with shabby cloth, a curious lump placed upon it, covered in a dark blue, moth-eaten scrap of velvet. Bucky took the rickety seat she motioned, whilst she sat herself in the opposite chair.

“What do you wish to know?” Madame Babineaux asked, and something about the glittering mischief in her eyes told Bucky that she thought she already knew the answer to her question.

Before he could shake himself from the strange compulsion to bare his soul to this stranger, the Captain found himself asking; “Will he ever love me, as he once did?”

It was, after all, the only question that really mattered, and so he awaited her answer with baited breath.


End file.
